The war, five years later

So here we are, five years after BushCo and his cronies started a stupid, pointless and illegal war in Iraq and decided to invade Baghdad. I said it was a bad idea then and now the rest of the country and world has gotten to find out what a profoundly bad idea it was. Oh, we would be greeted as liberators. Oh, we have to do it to stop those WMDs. Oh, they were behind 9/11. Oh, if we don't fight them there we'll have to fight them here. All a pack of lies. We were led into a 21st Century version of Vietnam despite the domestic and international outcry, and the invasion and occupation was a horrible mess and a complete debacle from the start. We've turned Iraq from a country that had no terrorism to the most Dangerous Place on Earth, a breeding ground for terrorists to train against American forces. We've turned the entire nation into a battle zone between three warring tribes, none of which respect or accept the rule of the quisling government that we've set up there.

Now we have over 4000 troops dead, and 30,000 wounded, and God knows how many dead and wounded Iraqis. We have alienated our allies and shown rogue nations that if you don't want to get invaded, you better get real nukes fast. Our reputation and standing in the world have suffered immensely in the last five years, and we have squandered every bit of good will offered to us after 9/11. It will take generations to rebuild that, and even longer to repay the bill (especially at $1 BILLION a day to run the war) and already has cost half a TRILLION dollars. Imagine what the US could have done with that kind of money.

Not only will we be stuck with the bill, but so will our grandkids.

So, on this fifth anniversary of the Iraq War, I'd like to take the opportunity to dedicate an old Bob Dylan Classic to the architects that got us in this mess : Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Perle, Wolfowitz, Powell and Rice.

While this song was originally written for Vietnam, it still rings just as true today as it did during our last pointless war of occupation led on false pretenses. (and no, this ain't going under a cut tag-- not today). You tell 'em, Bob.

Masters of War

Come you masters of warYou that build all the gunsYou that build the death planesYou that build the big bombsYou that hide behind wallsYou that hide behind desksI just want you to knowI can see through your masks

You that never done nothin'But build to destroyYou play with my worldLike it's your little toyYou put a gun in my handAnd you hide from my eyesAnd you turn and run fartherWhen the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of oldYou lie and deceiveA world war can be wonYou want me to believeBut I see through your eyesAnd I see through your brainLike I see through the waterThat runs down my drain

You fasten the triggersFor the others to fireThen you set back and watchWhen the death count gets higherYou hide in your mansionAs young people's bloodFlows out of their bodiesAnd is buried in the mud

How much do I knowTo talk out of turnYou might say that I'm youngYou might say I'm unlearnedBut there's one thing I knowThough I'm younger than youEven Jesus would neverForgive what you do

Let me ask you one questionIs your money that goodWill it buy you forgivenessDo you think that it couldI think you will findWhen your death takes its tollAll the money you madeWill never buy back your soul